


A Good Sign (Or, A Lesson in Comforting)

by TimeSorceror



Series: Lessons [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Also there are ten silk scarves, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And Dorian is clueless but sincere and well-meaning, And there is dancing with those scarves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Self-Lubrication, Zevran is an idiot who just really cares about people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeSorceror/pseuds/TimeSorceror
Summary: Fenris loses his mate in an unfortunate accident and later finds himself attracted to Skyhold’s resident necromancer while still in the throes of grief. However, a crow agent of Leliana’s happens to arrive at just the right time with a box of scarves and a fondness for beautiful and exotic people.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luffymarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luffymarra/gifts).



> I felt that this set of characters lended themselves well to a sequel for A Lesson in Intimacy, so here we are. Threesomes are harder to write than I thought! But very fun.
> 
> Also, I found a reddit post that talked about a dance that the ten silk scarf reference could've been based on called the Dance of the Seven Veils. It's a fascinating bit of trivia, and I suggest looking up a video of it because that's the general atmosphere that came to mind when writing about the scarf dance. I had to come up with my own sort of idea in my head of how the scarves were worn since the dance only had seven scarves, but in general the way they're worn in the story is based on how they're worn in the Dance of the Seven Veils.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

Zevran looked up at the window when he heard the sound of a beak tapping on the glass. He glanced over at the table where his favorite crow skull mask sat smiling at him and he flashed it a fond grin at the thought of the man who’d gifted it to him.

But now was not the time for such musings. That was one of the Nightingale’s ravens if he wasn’t mistaken.

Quickly, he opened the window and removed the missive from its leg, and he closed the window after it hopped around excitedly waiting for the bird seed it knew he had hidden away. 

“Alright, alright you impatient little thing. Just wait a moment and I’ll get you your snack.” He patted the bird on the head and it squawked happily. He fed it and set out an old shirt for it to nap on before settling down in his chair to read the letter.

It, unfortunately, did not have good news. The Champion... lost to the Fade?

The letter requested his presence at the Inquisition’s base of operations at Skyhold, as soon as he was able. Zevran sighed, closing the letter and twirling it in his hands. This was to be more than a social call, he knew.  His heart ached for the man who had been the Champion’s beloved alpha... he couldn’t even imagine how distraught Fenris must be.

But, at least for now, he wasn’t alone. Zevran knew that the broody elf had at least one friend to share his grief with.

Zevran hoped that would be enough. Even if he left this very moment and the weather and circumstances cooperated, it would be quite some time before he reached Skyhold. Best get packing.

\---

Since the incident in the Fade, Fenris had taken a liking to the library at Skyhold. It was, despite its small size, comfortingly quiet when he needed it to be. More importantly, when he needed to be alone, it seemed to make certain that he stayed that way.

And so the library was where he usually found himself whenever he needed a place to escape. He’d curl up in one of the large armchairs, trying to distract himself with histories of Thedas, various assorted fantasy folktales, or even Skyhold’s complete collection of Brother Genitivi’s travelogues.  

His reading had greatly improved since he’d first asked Anders to teach him, so much so that Anders had begun teaching him the alphabet for Tevene before they’d left with Hawke to strike out on this Maker-forsaken venture.

Currently, his book of choice was a set of Tevinter folktales. He wasn’t all too invested in the subject matter, but they were helping him to learn. They were children’s stories after all; he was only using the volume to practice with. 

And then Dorian Pavus walked into his corner.

Fenris tensed, glancing up and curling a little tighter as the Altus perused the volumes, searching for one in particular. He seemed too invested in his search to notice the lyrium lined elf silently starting at him from the chair, though eventually he turned and gave a little start, blinking at Fenris in surprise.

Fenris didn’t hate Dorian. Quite the opposite, actually.

He’d been with the Inquisitor’s party of people on their visit to Redcliffe’s tavern to meet Dorian’s family retainer, who hadn’t actually  _been_  a retainer but in fact Dorian’s  _father_  waiting inside. He hadn’t heard the entire ensuing conversation, but he’d heard enough to know exactly  _why_  Dorian had left Tevinter in the first place. Afterward, Fenris had been able to let go of his initial dislike of the man, enough to begin viewing him in a more neutral light.

That was until recently, when he’d begun feeling a familiar longing towards the omega Altus, shortly after Hawke had made him and Anders leave Hawke behind in the Fade. Typical Hawke, deciding to fight off the Nightmare and give everyone else time to escape.

Fenris actually rather liked Dorian. Or at least his body did. And he had no idea how to feel about that.

“Ah, Fenris, sorry I didn’t see you there. I’m just trying to find something I left on my desk yesterday that someone seems to have picked up and put away... terribly inconvenient, that.” 

“The discourse on the properties of lyrium?” Fenris asked, keeping his voice level and conversational. One of Dorian’s finely trimmed eyebrows rose in baffled curiosity, and Fenris’ lips twitched in a small smile. He rather liked that look on the other man; it smoothed the worry lines of his face enough that he actually looked his age. Dorian had far too many of such lines for a healthy mage only just entering his thirties. 

Dorian cleared his throat. “I, ah... yes. Have you seen it?” 

Fenris gestured to the shelf that was about level with the Altus’ head and to the left of where he sat. “The tranquil, Helisma, picked it up yesterday evening and returned it there. She might have mistaken your desk as the return shelf, which looks a lot like yours.” Dorian listened intently as he spoke, and turned to search the shelf Fenris had pointed out. 

Eventually, he found the book he’d been looking for.

“Ah, I see. I suppose I shall move my things to a more distinguishable desk, or let Helisma know which one is mine.”

“The one that smells of jasmine and lavender, I would expect,” Fenris teased, which caused Dorian to splutter indignantly. “I-It does not! My clothing, however, is another story. ” He winked, and Fenris shifted a little in his seat, hoping the omega didn’t notice the flash of arousal the comment had caused. 

“My apologies. It’s a compulsive habit of mine, flirting with beautiful men. I hope I haven’t made you  _too_ uncomfortable.”

He seemed genuinely contrite, and inclined his head to the alpha by way of yet another apology, flashing a brazenly flirtatious grin. “I’ll... leave you to your reading, then. Thank you for the assistance.” And then he turned on his heel and went back to his research, leaving Fenris to watch him saunter away, temptingly, until he and his shapely backside were out of sight.

Fenris sighed, closing his book and wrapping himself with the quilt that he’d draped over the chair when he’d claimed it as his own. He just couldn’t understand it. His bond with Hawke hadn’t been severed for more than two weeks when he first started to recognize the new desires that came over him sometimes when he saw Dorian now. Originally he’d been furious at Dorian, though it hadn’t taken him more than a day to come to his senses and understand that such things were beyond his control. 

But why did he  _need_  more than one omega? Most alphas were content with just the usual single partnerships, why did he have to be the oddity that craved more than one set of thoughts and feelings along the bond he shared?

And why did it have to be Dorian? It might have been easier if it were someone else, even another Alpha like Cullen, or a Beta like Alistair. 

Even the strange spirit, Cole, seemed a better choice to him than Dorian. 

Fenris couldn’t seem to find an answer for it. It didn’t seem to be Dorian’s status as a mage, though when he’d heard him say he was an Altus, the only thing he could feel was a mild distaste for the man. Yet after he’d learned more about Dorian, it didn’t seem to bother him much that the man was from Tevinter or who he happened to be related to.

Which left Fenris feeling frustrated and unable to sort out his feelings about the flirtatious necromancer.

Fenris sighed again and glanced at the book he’d put aside. There was no point in reading now. He was too riled up with his thoughts. Perhaps... perhaps he should just talk to the man. He still had a sick knot of anxiety sitting in his stomach at the thought of it, but surely it couldn’t hurt? What was that phrase Anders was so fond of? Ripping it off like a sticky bandage? But, the man was busy with his research right now. He’d do it later, perhaps after dinner. 

And with that thought, Fenris seemed to relax a little after having made the decision to do something about his predicament. Not enough to pick up his reading again, but he knew that Cassandra was often out in the practice yards with the Iron Bull, and both were always up for a good sparring session with him. He replaced the quilt and tucked his books into a satchel, then headed off to pass the time until he was ready to pull Dorian away from his work.

\---

Sometime after Fenris had left the library, Dorian watched as a blonde elf wearing a black cloak and a skull mask slunk into the rookery where Leliana kept track of every single scrap of information that went in or out of Skyhold. Presumably, the stranger was one of her agents, so he put the thought of the man out of his mind and turned away to reorganize his research.

Time passed, and Dorian felt that he was a little bit closer to the answer he sought (if only the Inquisitor had sent his request for that genealogy earlier in the week, he might’ve been closer – but, alas), if only by a small margin at least. Still, progress was progress.

He noted the lateness of the hour and plucked a peach from the bowl he’d pilfered from the kitchens earlier that morning, and began munching on it thoughtfully, that first juicy bite eliciting a quiet moan that he’d hoped no one heard and mistook for something else entirely...

“Sounds like a sinfully good piece of fruit, my friend,” said a smooth voice from behind him, “Care to share?”

Dorian whirled, though he tried to slow the motion into something resembling a wide turn with a flourish , coming face to face with the blonde elf . Now, the crow mask was tilted up at an angle so he could see the man’s face, thin but well-defined with  subtle and smooth cheekbones. He had the sort of face with contours that were _to die_ _for_ , and they were accentuated by inky black tattoos that curled down his face like the markings that some of the other elves in the Inquistion’s service wore.

And the eyes... they were light brown, so bright they were almost golden. Like all elf eyes they glowed brighter when the surrounding light grew dim.

Dorian swallowed, took a cursory glance at the lean form of the elf, and decided he liked what he saw.  He grinned as he slowly bit into the peach again and moaned just a little bit louder for dramatic effect. Listeners be damned. Few people here had much of an opinion of him anyway, much less one that he cared about.

“I’m not usually the sharing type,” he replied, still nibbling at the peach. “And who, may I ask, is asking, anyhow?”

The blonde elf grinned. The playful glint in his eyes made his expression seem almost feral.  He chuckled, and the light of his eyes twinkled with amusement as he answered with an equally theatrical bow. “I am Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Antivan Crows, mate of the Hero of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine and Commander of the Grey.” He hummed in amusement as he watched Dorian blink at the torrent of words that fell from his lips, and then he laughed.

“Sorry, was that too much? Someone told me once that they hadn’t expected so much honesty from me. Should I have been less direct?” 

And there was that  grin again.

Dorian felt his insides warm, melting a little as he polished off the rest of the peach. It should be a sin, he thought, for a man to be able to evoke such a reaction in him with just  their voice . Well, Fenris did that to him too,  so perhaps he should retract that statement...

“Oh, that was just forward enough. I’m Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. Or, Skyhold, rather.” He gestured to the nook he’d claimed for his research, then stepped backward to lean against the wall near the window. Here, he could comfortably take his fill of the other man, who, judging from the look in his eyes, seemed intent on doing the same. “Tell me,” he asked smoothly, “what is the mate of the Hero of Fereldan doing in Skyhold? Surely you aren’t just here to tease every handsome creature in the vicinity?”

Zevran laughed and pulled off his crow mask to set it on a nearby table. With the mask off, his golden hair fell around his face in waves, complimenting his dusky skin and nearly yellow eyes.

“That was not my original intent, though I have to admit it sounds like a fantastic challenge. Perhaps you’d like to help me get a start on it? Normally I'd prefer to dance around with you awhile, however I'm short on time and I'm hoping to find someone else before I leave. But a tumble with you would be delightful. That is, if you’re willing.” He angled his head in a submissive gesture that Dorian guessed was meant to assure him that he intended no harm. “And only if you are willing, of course. I do not bring anyone to my bed that does not wish to be there.”

Dorian felt an eyebrow raise in surprise. “That’s... rather refreshing, actually. And, you come at a good time. I was just finishing up with my research for the day.” And with that, he moved from the wall and stood just across from the elf.

“Well, I suppose it is a good thing that I wandered your way, you look tense after spending so long pouring over your... research. Shall we take this elsewhere if you are so inclined?” Zevran purred, leaning close and running his hands along Dorian’s arms. Dorian shivered. The warmth of the elf’s skin mixed with the coolness of his leather half-gloves brought an interesting combination of sensations across the expanse of his  shoulder. 

“Oh, I’d very much like to take this elsewhere,” he whispered huskily.

“Dorian? I need to sp–ah... oh.”

Dorian startled. This evening was simply full of surprises.  He looked up to see a familiar white haired elf standing in the entrance to the nook, looking decidedly uncomfortable as he glanced at the nook’s other elven occupant.

“Fenris?” Zevran turned around, lips stretching into a grin at the sight of him. “It is you!”

Fenris’ eyebrows rose a fraction when Zevran called his name . His shoulders fell slightly as he relaxed and he returned Zevran’s greeting with an amused smirk. 

“I... take it you two know each other?” Dorian asked, suddenly curious. There was history here, he could tell. 

“We do,” Fenris replied, eyes flicking back to Dorian. “Though, if the two of you are busy, I can come back later. I had been hoping to speak to you about something, but it can wait if you have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“You could always join us,” Zevran offered. “Unless... ah. I apologize.”

Dorian frowned. Why retract his initial offer? Dorian certainly wouldn’t have minded if the elf tagged along. But wait, hadn’t the alpha been mated to... right. He could see why that might be a problem.

Fenris’ ears flicked back and pinned to his head. A rumbling growl bubbled up from his chest, but it faded before Fenris responded with, “It seems I interrupted something. Perhaps I should go and come back later.” 

“Well wait, wait! There are things three people can do that don’t involve sex, you know,” Dorian pointed out quickly. “Like drinking, for example. I’m rather fond of drinking.”

Zevran chuckled. “There is that, I suppose.” He glanced at Fenris, then gestured towards Dorian with one hand.

“Drinking it is, then.” Zevran said. “Tell me, is the tavern here any good?”

“It is if you ask for the maraas-lok,” Fenris said, shrugging. “Or the Ferelden ale.”

The two of them turned to look at him curiously. 

“What?” He asked, seemingly baffled at their reaction.

”I’m surprised you’re so well acquainted with the tavern’s drinks is all.” Dorian scoffed. 

Fenris folded his arms, giving Dorian an amused smirk. “I figured you knew, considering how often you’re in there with me, pestering Cabot about having some decent wine imported.”  
  
“Well, drinking one’s feelings is a Tevinter pastime.” Dorian deadpanned . 

“I notice you don’t object,” Zevran pointed out.   “And from what I know of Tevinter, that seems correct.”  
  
“Indeed,” Fenris said drily.

That seemed to lighten the mood enough for the three of them to share a look that quickly reduced all three of them to laughing. Zevran picked up his crow mask, placing it on his head and giving Dorian an exaggerated bow. Zevran looked toward him gesturing for him to follow Fenris down stairs.

Dorian did so as quickly as possible without trying to seem too eager about it. It would be a shame to ruin such a beautiful opportunity. 

\---

Down in the tavern, Fenris mulled over his thoughts as he slowly drank his way through a mug of Ferelden ale. Normally at this time of night, he would’ve preferred some of the maraas-lok that the Iron Bull had helped Cabot acquire, but if he was going to speak to Dorian about his feelings with anything resembling thoughtfulness or coherency (both were preferred, but at least one of the two was better than nothing ) then Ferelden ale it was.

He would have to wait his turn, it seemed. Dorian was currently engaged in a rather animated discussion with Zevran. Most of the discussing was little more than flirting, but Fenris decided that he didn’t mind watching the two men. 

He smiled at them, as a warm feeling spread through his chest. They reminded him of happier times when he’d watched his own omegas . Fenris paused, clutching his mug in both hands and blinking in surprise at the realization that had just struck him. 

His heart didn’t ache quite as much when he thought about the past, nor did he have as strong a desire to drown his sorrows in drink. 

Was it simply that enough time had passed, or something else entirely? 

He glanced down at his drink and took a swig of it. He’d have time for introspection later. He wanted to talk to Dorian while the man could still actually have a proper conversation and perhaps remember most of it in the morning.

“Dorian,” he drawled, “you still owe me a conversation.”

Dorian turned to him, giving him a slightly unfocused once-over. “Ah, right. Yes, um, Zevran? Do you mind giving us a moment? I promise I’ll be right with you.”

Zevran chuckled. “Take your time. I think I’ll go watch that game of Wicked Grace that the Iron Bull is starting up. Maybe they’ll start betting clothing.”

“Is Cullen playing? Bull might start having him bet clothing regardless. Cullen lost all his clothes against Josephine once, and Bull’s been trying to get him to repeat the experience ever since.” 

“All the more reason to go and watch, then. But I’ll be back, I promise you. Don’t go anywhere.” He winked at Dorian and drifted in the direction of the game.

Fenris and Dorian stayed where they were, backs to the bar and mugs in their hands.

“So,” Dorian began slowly after taking a swig of his ale, “before we get to whatever you wanted to talk about, could you tell me how you know Zevran? Seems to me like there’s a story there.”

Fenris watched Dorian’s expression become more alert for a moment before he relaxed again.

“There is, and you are not as drunk as you appear to be.”

Dorian hummed noncommittally. “Tevinter pastime, remember? I’m a very functional drunk. Could keep myself on the edge of that pleasant buzz for days if I had the right kind of wine. But sadly I have to do my best with this... Ferelden ale.”

“Could be worse,” Fenris reminded him. “It could smell like wet dog.”

Dorian seemed appalled. 

“Never drink the ale from the Hanged Man in Kirkwall, then. It  _always_  smelled of wet dog.”

“Ah, no thank you. I’ll pass.”

“Good on you. Luckily for us, Varric always had a supply of the better stuff on hand whenever we got together for Wicked Grace, but otherwise...wet dog ale it was.” Dorian just made a disgusted noise that only served to further amuse Fenris. 

“Are there  _no_  other places in Kirkwall that serve alcohol?” 

“Not that I could tell,” Fenris said. “Trust me, if they existed I would’ve found them. Or, perhaps not. I was quite focused on consuming the entirety of my former master’s wine collection at the time.” There was a pregnant pause in the conversation, though Fenris was quick to clear his throat and attempt to bring the conversation back to Dorian’s original question. “But, you asked me how I knew Zevran, correct?”

“I believe that was it, yes.”

Fenris took another sip of ale. “Well, I helped him through a heat once.”

Dorian spluttered a little . “What, really? That’s... interesting. How did that come about, exactly?” Fenris shrugged. “Well, he actually approached me after we met while I was out on a job with... with Hawke.” 

“You seem rather at ease about it.”

“At the time, I was less than enthusiastic, but you have to agree he has a certain...  _charm_ , yes?” Dorian nodded, glancing appreciatively at the blonde elf who was currently lounging in a chair, feet propped up on a table as he watched the current round of cards with amusement.

“So he offered to teach me how to become... well, a more considerate alpha. He got to have a good time with an, and I quote, “exotic and beautiful person,” and I got to learn how to take care of and please an omega during their heat. It was a mutually beneficial experience.”

“I see. I just... I’m having a hard time picturing it. He seems so... promiscuous, and you’re rather...”

“...not?” Fenris smirked. “No, not really. And he’s less promiscuous than he appears to be. It’s just that he and his mate are together so infrequently that they agreed seeking out other bed partners was something neither minded overmuch. As long as they were ultimately faithful to each other, in the end.”

“And he told you this?” Dorian asked. 

“I might’ve asked him about it the last time he was in Kirkwall. He doesn’t hold much back from people that he likes.” Fenris paused, sighed, and took another swig of ale. Then he noticed it was empty, slipped Cabot a few silvers, and waited for a refill.

“But, speaking of liking... I must confess something to you.”

“What, that you like me?”

Fenris fell silent. Dorian blinked at him in surprise. “You... do you really?”

“I...” Fenris cleared his throat as Cabot thankfully slid him another tankard of ale. Perhaps he should reconsider drinking the maraas-lok instead.

“I... well. It is something that has been troubling me for a while now. I realized, at some point, that I was attracted to you. I’ve been having a hard time sorting out whether the draw was personal or physical, and I’m still dealing with losing someone I cared for very much...”

“...you didn’t want to seem as though you were trying to replace them with someone else, yes?”

“Yes. I felt it would have been a disservice to Hawke's memory.” 

“It’s a very valid feeling, I suppose. But, I must confess that the feeling is mutual. You’re a very handsome elf, with or without your lyrium brands.” Dorian looked him over once, then frowned. “Were you initially repulsed by your attraction to me at all? I am a mage, if you’ve forgotten. Scary Tevinter magister and all that nonsense.” 

“Altus,” Fenris corrected him.  He saw the corner of the Altus' mouth twice up in a half-smile. “And yes, you being a mage did you few favors when I first met you, but that was before our losses at Adamant. And I don’t know if you remember, but I was with the party the Inquisitor took when we visited the tavern in Redcliffe.”

“Oh, right.  _That_  disaster.” Dorian muttered . “I tried to forget most of it, sorry.”

“Well, I heard enough about what happened for my opinion of you to change.” Fenris shrugged. ”I wasn’t possessed with the sudden desire to become your friend, but I found it easier to see a person underneath all that mage.”

“Which for you is high praise, so I suppose I’ll take it as a compliment,” Dorian commented . Fenris sighed. “I... well. Anyway, most of my initial anger faded away when I was reminded that some things aren’t always within our control.” 

“You know, there is a way you could find out if your attraction is purely physical.” Dorian prompted. “You  _could_  join Zevran and I tonight if you like. Since you already know how you feel about him, perhaps a night with us both could help you decide how you feel about me.”

“And what if I still have the desire to mate you?”

Dorian fell silent again, but recovered quickly. “A discussion for tomorrow morning then. So, what do you say?”

“It sounds... interesting. Perhaps you do have brains after all.”

“Hey!” Dorian protested. “I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.”

“Prove it to me then, tonight.” Fenris chuckled.

Dorian tsked, folding his arms and shaking his head, “I believe I shall, elf.” He paused, and uncrossed his arms as he leaned back on the bar again.

 “I think the game has just ended.”

“Hmm?” Dorian turned to look towards the card players agin. “Oh, right. There’s Zevran. I’m sure he’ll be glad to know you’ll be joining us.” 

\---

Zevran had been watching the two Tevinter men out of the corner of his eye whenever he felt they were too engrossed in their conversation to notice his eavesdropping. He idly wondered if he should move closer so he could watch the game _and_ listen in, but he decided he was more comfortable where he was.

Besides, it would not do to be _too_ obvious.

Eventually the game came to an end. When the Commander excused himself despite the protests of the Bull’s Chargers, Zevran decided that now would be a good time to get on with the night’s more interesting festivities.

“Are you boys done bonding over Cabot’s ale?” he inquired casually, gravitating towards a nearby column and smoothly leaning against it.

Fenris grunted.

“You make it sound as if the man has no taste,” Dorian  teased. “The ale might be Ferelden, but his recipe is Antivan. Give the man some credit.”

Zevran glanced at Cabot, then back at the tankards Dorian and Fenris clutched in their hands. “I see. I shall have to give it a proper taste later. Well Dorian, shall we find someplace... quieter? Your rooms, perhaps?”

“That sounds like a delightful idea, especially since Fenris has decided to join us.”

Zevran quirked an eyebrow and shot Fenris a quizzical glance. 

“That’s... rather fantastic, actually. What changed your mind?”

Fenris jerked his head towards Dorian. 

“He has a surprisingly silver tongue,” Fenris replied nonchalantly. “I wanted to see how well he could use it in other ways.”

Dorian flushed, apparently not having expected  _that_ particular reply. 

“I, well... um. You are full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

Fenris smirked, then glanced at Zevran. “Say, do you still have those silk scarves? I rather enjoyed what we did with them last time.”

“Silk scarves?” Dorian seemed to have recovered from his momentary loss of composure. “Do you happen to have ten of them?”

 “Ooh, are you asking about what I think you’re asking?”  Zevran hummed in anticipation. “Yes, I think I have plenty.  Do you have a lute?”

“I do. You supply the music, and I dance?”

“Music, dancing? What in Thedas am I getting myself into?” Fenris muttered.

“You, my friend, are about to experience one of the most well-kept and very pleasurable sets of erotic Orlesian dances.” Zevran laughed. 

“Mmm. Titilating.”

“You will be, by the end of it,” Dorian replied, edging Fenris gently in the ribs. 

“At least, if it’s done right,” Zevran teased.

Dorian simply grinned at him and twirled his mustache with one finger. 

“Oh, it’ll be done right. I promise you.”

\---

The three of them ended up in Dorian’s quarters, which did indeed smell faintly of jasmine and lavender.

Zevran  procured the scarves for Dorian, who disappeared into a side room to change into “something more comfortable.” Zevran removed his cloak and crow mask before reclining on the bed with Fenris. Now that he was here, he let his anticipation run wild. He could feel it bubble under his skin until it became a slow burn of desire, his fingers methodically plucking at a lute’s strings to tune it properly. 

For a mage, Dorian was quite muscled, and he had great plans for the man as long as Fenris didn't mind his plans.  The elf sat beside him in nothing but a white shirt and leathers, eyes closed as he took in the heady scent of perfume.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asked Fenris in a low voice. Fenris half-opened his eyes and glanced in his direction, lips twitching into a smile.

“I am, actually. But thank you for the concern.”

Zevran nodded. “You seem rather...  _comfortable_  with him. I didn’t expect that.”

“Nor did I,” Fenris replied, staring fixedly at the patterning on the mage’s wardrobe. “But Dorian and I have a mutual attraction that I haven’t quite been able to figure out.” 

“Ah,” Zevran hummed in understanding. “You want to know whether or not the draw is purely physical?”

Fenris nodded. “Or, something else entirely. I’ve never known anyone else who’s lost a mate before, so I don’t know if this attraction is genuine or just my way of coping.”

“It is isn’t such terrible way of coping.” Zevran shrugged. “It can even be fun.”

“Not if I think that I want to mate him,” Fenris pointed out.

Zevran paused in his tuning, before picking it up again a moment later. “I see now. Well, that’s something you can figure out later, isn’t it? Tonight should be for less weighty thoughts, I think.”

“I must admit, I’m rather intrigued about this dance.” Fenris chuckled.  “I’m hoping it’ll be every bit as entertaining as the two of you make it out to be.”

“Oh it is, trust me.” Zevran replied easily before clearing his throat. “Dorian? I hope you’re quite finished! Or must we come and fetch you?”

There was an amused chuckle from the other room before Dorian called out in reply, “Oh yes, I’m quite finished. Start the music for me won’t you? It’s rather chilly even with so many fires going, you know.”

“Ugh, you’re just like Fenris,” Zevran complained in a teasing tone.

“What?” Fenris grumbled. “Is it a crime to prefer a more temperate climate?”

“Oh, finally, someone who agrees with me!”  

“Both of you, hush!” Zevran admonished. “I have music to play, yes?” He winked at Fenris who rolled his eyes. Zevran adjusted the placement of the lute and gripped it lightly, gently strumming a chord before beginning to play in earnest.

The melody was soft at first: low-pitched, gentle rolling plucks with little variation. The there was a sharply struck chord from Zevran's music, and the music gently swelled into a cascade of notes. Zevran did not need to look to play the song, and glanced over at Fenris, who met his gaze and held it even as Dorian stepped into the room. It seemed Zevran’s music had him spellbound.

Tonight was going to be very promising indeed, Zevran thought, if Dorian managed to deliver on his end of the performance.

And deliver, he did.

Usually in such close quarters, this dance was done with with long, thin scarves made of a sheer silk, usually all in the same color. But the scarves Zevran had provided were more like shawls, dyed in rich purples and blues with gold accents, and the material was less revealing.

But it certainly didn’t take away from the vision that was currently Dorian Pavus.

At least three of the scarves were wrapped around his waist and styled like a layered skirt, with two interlaced over his chest like a shirt, and two more attached as makeshift sleeves. One more acted as an actual scarf draped across his back and around his wrists, with another carefully arranged around his head. Zevran smirked as he realized where the tenth must be, as it didn’t seem to be visible anywhere at present.

Beside him, Fenris was entranced. Outwardly he appeared indifferent except for his wide green eyes and pricked ears, but Zevran could pick up the changes in his breathing and the weight of an alpha’s arousal filled his senses.

Dorian seemed to have noticed that as well, for he focused on making his movements as smooth and sinuous as possible. He was no trained dancer, but Dorian moved with practiced motions that told Zervan that the man had seen the public form of this dance performed several times, enough to memorize most of it. The rest was improvised, though Dorian was skilled enough to fill in the gaps that his memory left blank.

Fenris took in a deep breath and let it out, trying very hard to stay still.

“May I touch?” he asked, his voice creeping into that lower octave Zevran liked so much.  

“Not yet,” Zevran answered, his fingers moving in repeated patterns as the first scarf fell to the floor, shortly followed by the headscarf. “It’s tradition to wait for the dancer to finish the dance... before you help them  _to_  finish.” He grinned. Fenris groaned and Dorian laughed.

“There’s also a version of this dance that uses magic, but I figured I should stay traditional, for the sake of our current company.”

Fenris ran a hand through his hair as he tried not to notice the glint of gold that shone from Dorian’s ears. There was a neckpiece, too. “I’m... not sure I would’ve minded even the magic. You’re very captivating, like this.”

“Of course I am.” Dorian grinned.

Zevran waited for Dorian’s next cue, the removal of the silk “sleeves”, to change the pace and tone of the music. Here the tone changed from smooth and languid to fast paced, though the chords were still in a major key.  Soon, those scarves joined those on the floor, and Zevran was beginning to regret starting this fully clothed. Fenris at least had the right idea having only a shirt and pants.

The silk “shirt” came next, followed by the first and second layer of the skirt, which revealed the edges of the tenth scarf peeking over the hem of the skirt that held it up.

By now Zevran had transitioned from a major to a minor key, smoothing out the notes again and matching the less frantic motions of Dorian’s movements. 

It was also very obvious that just performing the dance had been an exciting experience for Dorian, because the remaining scarves did little to disguise that little problem. Fenris was panting next to him, licking his lips and tugging at his shirt. The fabric clung to him in places where he’d begun sweating just from watching, and Zevran could relate. He was, after all, playing fully clothed. 

And then came the climax of the dance; the removal of the final two scarves.

Dorian tugged at the "smallclothes” scarf and the skirt with both hands, removing them with a roll of his hips, a graceful twirl, and a final bow. Zevran finished his playing a little quicker than he would have liked, but he  _really_  wanted out of these clothes;  _now_.

The final two scarves dropped to the floor. 

\---

“I hope you enjoyed that, gentlemen.” Dorian prompted, looking up at them from a half bowed stance.

Fenris’ only reply was to growl softly as Zevran placed the lute somewhere out of sight. Fenris grimaced in mutual discomfort as he noticed the deep flush on Zevran’s cheeks. Wearing all black certainly didn’t help things, did it? Zevran glanced at him and they shared a conspiratorial smile before looking over at Dorian.

“Come here,” Fenris beckoned, crooking one finger in his direction. “Zevran is a little overdressed. Help me relieve him of this warm, black clothing, won’t you?” He let a little bit of a command seep through, which he hoped excited Dorian in the same way it usually excited Zevran.

And he wasn’t wrong. Dorian gave a little shiver and grinned before pressing his knees against the sheets and crawling to tug at Zevran’s boots while Fenris busied himself with Zevran’s shirts.

“Be careful with the leather,” Zevran hissed as Fenris tugged at a sensitive part of his right ear with his teeth. Dorian chuckled.

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of being anything less for Antivan leather.” 

He looked up and noticed Fenris’ wandering hands and nibbling lips. Fenris growled again softly in the hopes of eliciting another shiver, and he was happy to see Dorian’s body respond as he’d hoped. 

“You like biting things, don’t you?”

\---

“Only the places that would make you melt, become warm and pliant in my hands,” Fenris answered, letting his fingers brush over Zevran’s nipples, teasing until he had the Omega  writhing in his lap. Some of the writhing was a little too much to be mere reactions to his touch, he thought, but he didn’t mind. Zevran had a wildness to him neither of his other partners had had, and he could appreciate that boldness now and again.

“Pants,” Fenris barked gently at Dorian, who palmed Zevran’s erection for a moment or two before complying. Zevran panted and looked Fenris up and down. “Now who’s overdressed?” he countered, and Fenris moved him so Zevran was perched on his thighs and Dorian had room to move to the side.

“You could help me out with that,” Fenris pointed out, voice dripping sensually. Zevran grinned, practically peeling off Fenris’ leathers while Dorian finished the task of removing Fenris’ shirt. 

Zevran whistled. “And this is why I like threesomes. So that I can sit back and watch things like  _that_.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I hope you intend to do more than just watch, Zevran. Isn’t it now our turn to do some...  _dancing_? You did say that once Dorian’s dance finished, we got to help  _him_  finish.” He glanced at Dorian, who was still a little dazed from Fenris’ kiss. 

“What do you say,  _Omega_? Would you like to be between us? Me taking you from behind, and Zevran in front? How does that sound?”

Dorian gave an uncharacteristic whimper of excitement before he finally remembered to breathe. “Oh,” he tittered, “oh, I’d like that very much.” Both of them glanced at Zevran, who sat lounging and stroking himself like a cat who’d gotten the cream. 

“Oh, I’m up for just about anything. Where’s your salve, Dorian?”

Dorian fished a small jar from somewhere and handed it to Zevran. Zevran took a generous amount of it before handing it to Fenris.

“I’ll take care of myself, friend. Why don’t you help out our handsome dancer?”

\---

Fenris turned to Dorian, who reflexively swallowed in with Fenris hoped was anticipation. He couldn’t smell any fear, but... he had to make sure. 

“I can, but as someone one told me, penetrative sex requires additional lubricant.” He leaned forward, nipping and biting where Dorian seemed to like it the most, peppering each bite with kisses. “Even when you make your own, you can never have to much lubricant.” He glanced at Zevran, who grinned, seemingly enjoying himself. Perhaps a little too much. 

“Zevran,” he chided, “it won’t do if you finish before our dancer does.”

Zevran hummed in agreement, having finished his own preparations, and he reached for a small cloth to clean his hand with. “I’m ready if you are.” 

Dorian hadn’t been wrong when he’d told Fenris how wet he was. It had only taken a quick but thorough stretching and Fenris felt safe to proceed. “Turn for me, Dorian? So your back is to me.” Dorian complied, and Fenris gripped the base of his cock to steady it so Dorian could sink back onto him with relative ease. Slowly he inched down, stopping just short of Fenris’ knot, and his breath came in quick but measured pants as he glanced at Zevran. 

“Gently now,” he panted as Zevran moved to hover over Dorian, “in my experience, these things can end too quickly if either of us makes a wrong move.” Zevran’s lips quirked up into a wry smile. “You underestimate my endurance, my friend. And Fenris’ for that matter.” Fenris scoffed, but made no other protests to the contrary.

And then Zevran sunk down over Dorian’s cock, and Fenris reveled in the scent spikes of both omegas. On impulse, he buried his face in Dorian’s neck, his mouth filling with numbing saliva. He groaned, resisting the impulse to bite and sink his teeth into Dorian’s neck. Instead, he moved away and whispered in Dorian’s ear, “I could knot you, if you like. Or I can do my best to hold back; this is for you, after all.” 

Dorian groaned. “Oh, I don’t know. I just want someone to  _move_.”

Zevran chuckled. “I can do that.” And Zevran lifted himself up slowly before coming back down, Dorian’s hips lifting almost of their own accord to thrust upwards. Fenris’ hips followed the motion, and eventually the three were able to establish and uneven but consistent rhythm. Zevran was intent on seeing that Dorian finished first, so he licked a few fingers and played with Dorian’s nipples. Fenris wasn’t really as responsive to nipple play, but Dorian reacted beautifully. 

It didn’t take long for Dorian to crest, and Dorian reached for Zevran’s cock to pump and stroke. The roughness of the motion was enough to send Zevran over the edge, which left Fenris still unfinished. Dorian glanced back and up at him, eyes half-lidded and his breath coming in pants. It painted a picture so arousing that it hurt.

“Come for us, Fenris. You can knot me next time.”

Fenris was only barely able to register the flash of surprise before his hips jerked and he was coming at last. His knot still rested temptingly at the edge of Dorian’s entrance, but he knew better than to force it. If Dorian didn’t ask for it, then he didn’t need it. And apparently, neither did Fenris.

Eventually the three men extricated themselves from one another, and Dorian gave a happy sigh as he flopped onto the bed next to Fenris, who watched the omega with tired amusement. 

“Satisfied?” He asked, watching Zevran slowly collect and replace his clothing from the various places they had ended up.

Dorian hummed appreciatively. “Very. I’m all a-tingle.” He sighed again before he opened one eye to watch Zevran. “You have to leave so soon? What happened to teasing and tumbling with every handsome creature in Skyhold?”

Zevran laughed. “Well, I’ve done just that, haven’t I?” He found the closest chair and sat on it to pull on his boots. “At least the two I wanted to tumble with, that is. Besides, I have a new assignment, and I really should get on with it.” He grinned at them. “And, there’s a high chance I’ll finally run into my dear Warden on the way.”

Fenris smirked sleepily. “Don’t let us keep you then. I hope you enjoyed yourself.” Zevran stood, picking up his cloak and mask and replacing them both. “Oh, I did. Very much. And the dance was lovely by the way. You can keep the scarves as a gift.”

He gave them a wink, blew them a kiss, and then stole off into the night.

Dorian opened both eyes then and rolled over to look at Fenris properly. “So,” he began slowly, “did that answer your question for you?”

Fenris simply smiled and pulled the omega to him as he covered them both with the blankets. “A decision for the morning, omega. Or perhaps that next time you promised. But I don’t feel so guilty about it anymore.” 

“A good sign, I hope?”

Yes, Fenris thought, it was a good sign.

“You know, I can’t feel one side of my neck. It’s going to give me a terrible kink when I wake up in the morning,” Dorian grumbled. Fenris tilted his head and a gently nipped at the skin playfully.

“I’ll make it up to you in the morning. Now sleep, omega.”

But Dorian was already on his way into the Fade, and Fenris knew he wasn’t far behind. Even though he still missed his mate, there was a rightness to having Dorian in his arms.

It was a very good sign indeed.

 


End file.
